Within Our Hearts
by Triskell
Summary: prepare your hankies...this is TPM canon and I was in a sentimental mood ;D


Disclaimer: I have nothing to declare except my genius (Oscar Wilde ;D) – but I don't own Star Wars, Georgie is the King of the Universe…

I read the poem (at the end of the story) last night and it just seemed to say 'this is Qui-Gon', so I sat down and wrote this. I particularly like this story, I'd say it's the fave among the Star Wars pieces I've written.

**WITHIN OUR HEARTS**  
© Triskell, September 2000

  
Master Yoda shuffled silently along in the darkness, making his way to the pyre where, only a few hours ago, the body of his former student had been given to the flames. It was this sad occasion that had brought him to Naboo. And it was even worse having to stand there and see the deep grief, so well-hidden, yet palpable to those most sensitive to the living Force. Especially in Obi-Wan.   
  
Conferring the rank of knight upon him had been Yoda's idea. He had known, instinctively, what Qui-Gon would ask of his apprentice, and that the Padawan would not contradict his Master in this. Therefore Yoda had seen it fit to make it official, to avoid any nasty confrontations between young Obi-Wan and the Council. It would have led to nothing but a very angry, bereft man standing up and defying whomever he had to, just so that he could keep his promise.  
  
Most people had not known exactly how deep the friendship between Padawan and Master had become over the years. Yoda sensed it, however, and he did not need the Force to tell him that Qui-Gon's death had torn out a part of Obi-Wan's soul and heart. Losing one's father, one's family and best friend all at once was definitely more than anyone should be subjected to.  
  
The diminutive Jedi sighed as he finally reached the cold bier. The ashes had been swept up and put into an urn, which the young Queen had presented to Knight Kenobi. Yoda could only guess where the remains of Qui-Gon's body would be buried. It would forever remain a secret, only Obi-Wan would know – and that was how it should be. There was an amount of privacy that hung over the Master-Padawan relationship that no one was allowed to breach.  
  
It was no matter of protocol or the Code, simply a mark of respect. Friends knew each other so well that it was only natural they should be in charge of the last duties to the dead. Qui-Gon, though he had been a great Jedi Master, was now no more than a lost friend, someone who would be mourned and never forgotten.  
  
"Foreseen this, I have not, my Padawan." Yoda mumbled, a tear slipping free. He leaned heavily on his stick, feeling his age in his bones.   
  
It was always like this – this weariness and resignation when a loved one passed away. He had gone through this many times, his life-span was great and he was in a position, as a Jedi, to see more death and destruction, than most others of his race might ever do.  
  
A soft rustle of cloth against stone disturbed the quiet and Yoda looked up slowly. A figure stood in the shadows, leaning on a column, his face obscured by his hood, a long robe hiding his body.  
  
"Why?"  
  
It was no more than a whisper, but it echoed in the stillness and the night air carried the hoarse, broken tones as if on silent wings.   
  
"Tell you, I cannot, young Obi-Wan."  
  
The figure stepped forward, making his way towards Yoda, kneeling down beside him. He pushed the hood back, dark eyes glaring at the creature before him, his cheeks still reddened by tears that had long since been dried.  
  
"It was not his time!"  
  
Yoda slowly shook his head, unsure of how to react, how to comfort the young man whose pain lay open to him and whose defeat and anger were palpable.  
  
"I don't know how to take it."  
  
A confession that shook the little Jedi Master, stabbed his core with cold daggers of sudden fear, a flash of insight, of a dark, bleary and horrifying future. He gasped in shock and Obi-Wan's eyes softened, concern written across his features.  
  
"Master Yoda, are you all right? I…I apologize for my undignified…"  
  
"Hush. Not your fault this is. Chose to come over me, a vision did. A good one, it was not. But always in motion, the future is."  
  
"You look shaken. Would you like me to take you to the palace?"  
  
Suddenly, Yoda smiled, laying his small green hand on Obi-Wan's arm.  
  
"Know how to take Qui-Gon's death you do not? Compassion for others, you have. Concerned for the welfare of others you are. Follow your instincts you should. Go away at once, the pain will not. But learn to live with it you will."  
  
The young man averted his eyes, as a few tears ran down his cheeks. Yoda moved a step forward and drew Obi-Wan into a tight embrace.  
  
"Be there for you I will, if need of me you have."  
  
A simple enough promise, yet it seemed enough for the knight who began softly to sob against the ancient Master's rough woollen robes.  
  
They stayed there for a long time, the old comforting the young, and when Obi-Wan finally drew away and pulled his shoulders back, there was a new conviction and peace in his tone and the anger had left his eyes.  
  
"I will give my best to fulfil my promise."  
  
Yoda nodded and indicted the pyre with a wave of his hand.  
  
"Never broken, friendship can be. Not harm your memories, death can. Safe within your heart forever, Qui-Gon will be."  
  
"And in yours."  
  
The small Jedi Master nodded quietly. Suddenly, Obi-Wan stood up, paying no heed to the leaves and dust that clung to his robe as he made his way out of the pavilion.  
  
"Please follow me, Master Yoda."  
  
Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Yoda shuffled after the young man who was striding away from the outskirts of the city, towards the rolling hills and the woods that lay in the dark shadows of night.  
  
They walked in silence for a long time and dawn was approaching already, covering the sky with a soft lightness that crept along the horizon, slowly banishing the dusk. Obi-Wan led Yoda in among the trees, whose tall heads seemed to form a high vaulted ceiling that banished light and sound. Every quiet footstep rolled like a rumble of thunder and then bounded away into the shadows. Abruptly, the young man stopped and stepped aside to let Yoda see where he had taken him to.  
  
In a nest of branches and leaves, woven into shape with a soft touch of the Force that still lingered in the twists and knots, rested the urn containing the earthly remains of Qui-Gon Jinn. A note, scribbled on brown paper, the ink smeared here and there where a tear had fallen onto it, was bound around it with a thin cord. Moving closer, Yoda saw that it was adorned with beads and of a light colour, strands winding around and into each other. He looked solemnly up into Obi-Wan's face. There were no words which could have expressed what he was feeling. The simple fact that the young man had shown him what no other need to have known was a show of the greatest and deepest trust.  
  
When the ancient Jedi held out his hand, Obi-Wan sank down onto the ground beside him and grasped it, a small smile playing on his lips.  
  
"Forever bound to each other, we are now."  
  
"Now we are forever bound to each other."  
  
Obi-Wan echoed the ritual formula of friendship that had been handed down among the Jedi for centuries. He had spoken these words only to two other people as yet – to Bant and to Qui-Gon. It was a promise that could not be broken without severing a part of the other's soul in the process, a life-long commitment to the other.  
  
Obi-Wan indicated the piece of paper on the urn as he began to speak. "I found the poem in one of Qui-Gon's old books. He had lent it to me when we were discussing poetry in class. I never found any other that so adequately expressed all he was."  
  
It was yet too dark for actually reading the note, but the young man's voice filled the shadows with a warm, soft whisper as he recited the words, the sun rising in heavy red-gold and orange at his back.  
  
"On a Friend (*)  
An honest man here lies at rest,  
As e'er God with his image blest;  
The friend of man, the friend of truth,  
The friend of age, the guide of youth:  
Few hearts like this, with virtue warm'd,  
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd:  
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;  
If there is none, he made the best of this."  
  
The silence was complete when the last syllable rang out, the birds and forest creatures hushed for a moment as if in respect to the memory of the Jedi Master.  
  
When the first rays of the sun fell on the hills, some of them crept through the cracks in the thicket and the simple metal of the urn sparkled softly in the dim light, as if in silent acknowledgement of the vows of friendship that had been made in the darkness not so long ago.  
  
  
The End.  
  
  
(*) By Robert Burns. Found in "The Works of Robert Burns", Wordsworth Poetry Library, 1994; p 286 


End file.
